


The Mistakes We've Made

by CoffinBean



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: All aboard the in denial express, Angst and Drama, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, M/M, Manchester United, Slow Burn, an exploration of homophobia in football, i don't really know how to tag this, other characters appear but I've tagged the ones who appear the most
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffinBean/pseuds/CoffinBean
Summary: "They were nothing more that the shirts they wore and the mistakes they made."OrA social media post turns Victor's life upside down and he starts to question his stance in life. In particular, his friendship with David De Gea. He can only hope that his newly found feelings wouldn't be a mistake, though it only seems inevitable when he's a football player.
Relationships: David De Gea/Victor Lindelöf
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy I'm super nervous about posting this, I've spent the last couple of months writing this. :)
> 
> !!Somethings to know before you read:  
> This fic is a mixture of real life events, and some fabricated, which I have mashed together to create this. Though some of the events may not happen in the same order/time period that they do in real life. I will leave some links to resources or references I used, in the end notes. I've tried to keep it as realistic as I can in those moments, but please let me know if I've made a mistake.  
> Also, wives and girlfriends still exist. Maja and Victor are still married, though Edurne is only David's girlfriend in this fic. But Ted Louie doesn't exist, sorry.  
> There is some homophobic language, and some violence (nothing graphic) but I'll make note of it anyhow at the start of the chapter. 
> 
> This is my first football fanfiction. All comments, constructive criticism and feedback is welcome please! It would be much appreciated, thank you! :))

“Some mistakes get made, that’s alright, that’s okay. You can think you’re in love when you’re really just in pain” - Ashe 

CHAPTER ONE

It started with that damn instagram post. 

‘Find someone who looks at you the way @victorlindelof looks at me’ read the caption underlying the framed image. An image which Victor would have described as caring and affectionate, having recalled the moment he carefully held the goalie’s face in his hands, but on deeper inspection of his face within the photo, it could have read as intimate and possessing a deeper lust. His eyes were focused longingly on David’s face, mouth slightly parted and their bodies close together. 

This is the photo that would change everything. 

A bombardment of fans had left comments on the photo, either passing it off as a joke with laughing emojis, or leaving remarks of how romantic they looked, some exclaiming how they should ‘get a room’, and even a few showing a deep disgust and questioning their sexuality. 

But that is not where it ended. Victor hoped the photo would stay in the past. Just a moment, where fans can take what they will from it, and would soon be forgotten about. Besides, it not like he hasn’t shared pictures of himself and David before. But for someone reason the public began to speculate a secret relationship between the two. 

Victor would have ignored it until Maja bought it up. She humorously showed him the comments from her own Instagram under a photo she recently posted of him: ‘aww De Gea’s man is very cute’ and ‘hands off De Gea’s man’ and ‘DDG’s’ appeared as she scrolled, along with a flurry of others tagging David himself. 

Victor smiled and was glad his wife could laugh it off half heartedly. Why would she need to worry. She had absolutely no reason to. Victor Lindelöf is Manchester United’s centre back and David De Gea is their goalkeeper. They are team mates. Nothing more. Victor turned the words over restlessly in his mind. 

Nothing more. 

—  
MATCHDAY  
Everton vs Man United

Another blunder costed them points. 

Victor remembered the moment clearly. Only three minutes into the game and David De Gea had the ball at his feet. Everything in that moment seemed to slow down, and the more Victor thought back on it the slower it became and the more it haunted him. Trying to run through water was probably the closest depiction of that moment.

It should have been an easy pass. Just get the ball away from the goal. Though, David seemed to take his time. He looked to Victor and the two made eye contact. Thinking back to that moment, Victor couldn’t quantify how long it lasted, only that it felt longer than it possibly was, like the two were frozen in time, and that he felt his heart slow down. The beat of blood becoming a monotonous drum in his ears. The roar of the crowd drowned out and it was just the two of them.

It reminded him of that stupid photo. The way he had held David’s face and looked into his eyes. Soft blue, ocean eyes, which looked back into his own.

Then he suddenly snapped back to reality and David was waving him up the pitch. Caught in that moment, they were too slow to react, and David’s pass deflected of the Everton striker who had closed in quicker than anticipated. Victor felt his heart drop in complete dismay. The warm feeling that previously pooled in his stomach had evaporated and he cringed at the cold, harsh reality of the football match. The stadium had exploded into a cacophony of noise as the Everton supporters hollered with triumph. An easy goal, but one they would cherish nonetheless, being in the position they were in on the table. 

But that wasn’t the worst moment. That wasn’t the moment which broke Victor’s heart. 

The look of disappointment and sorrow which succumbed David’s face, his features distorting in despair, as he hung his head in shame, was a sight Victor never wanted to see again. David wouldn’t look at him. He wouldn’t look at Victor later in the changing rooms either. All Vic could do was run over, take the goddamn ball and kick it as far from the goal as possible. 

“It’s okay,” he had whispered. He knew it wasn’t. He knew it was a bad mistake but he needed to say something despite that. Something was better than letting David drown in his self deprecation. He tapped the goalkeeper on the back in comfort, his fingers lingering after the touch, before running back into position. 

He couldn’t look back. They just needed to keep going and move on. He needed to fight the urge to run back and take the other man into his arms and embrace him until the pain went away. It would have to wait. 

He needed to focus. 

A goal by Fernandes equalised the Devils later and subsequently the match finished one all. The draw however was not enough to wipe the dismal look which still ghosted over David’s visage. His head still hung in shame. The weight of his mistake was a far too heavy a burden to carry. Victor weaved through the gathering groups of players, commending each other on the game, to reach him. 

“David?” 

He didn’t answer as he had preoccupied himself with shaking the hand of the opposing goalkeeper. 

“David?”

He reached for his shoulder but was shaken off. It stung but Victor resisted the urge to try again. All he could do was watch in sorrow as David walked away towards the exit of the pitch, putting himself out of arm’s reach of the defender. 

It was only until later in the changing room that Victor managed to talk to David again. Everyone had cleared out early because there wasn’t much to celebrate with the draw. They gathered their belongings and said goodbyes and in the quiet aftermath there was only the two of them. David was sat besides his locker, head tilted back and leaning against the cool metal, eyes screwed shut in reflection. 

“It’s okay.” 

Another lie. He knew it wasn’t but Victor was unable to conjure anything else in comfort. On most days he would offer an embrace, however he was certain he would be shrugged off again. He just wanted to see David smile but struggled at words and unsurprisingly the feelings and emotions which corresponded with them. 

“How is it okay?” 

David opened his eyes but he didn’t look at Victor. Instead he hastily pulled at the laces of his boots, fingers determined. 

“Mistakes happen but we always come back stronger. Tomorrow will be a new day and you can put it behind you and carry on.” 

“Don’t you think I’m tired of making mistakes though.” 

“I know but-”

“I let myself get distracted and I shouldn’t have done. The team was counting on me but I failed. What’s the use of goalkeeper who doesn’t save anything?” 

Victor wanted to say something more but he knew it was better at this moment to let David get it out of his system. Now was not time to be a defensive wall but rather a shoulder to cry on. It was just better to let David come to own conclusions rather than shove the answers at him.

“I need to stop getting distracted. I can’t afford anymore mistakes. Please,” David gathered his belongings, forcing the boots into his duffle bag, and stood up from the bench. This time he made eye contact with Victor, and instantly Victor wished he had not. It was a pained look and one which was swimming with regretfulness. Although, Victor couldn’t figure out why until David spoke again.

“I need to concentrate. I need to be alone. I need you to stay away from me for a while.” 

Victor opened his mouth but no words arose in opposition. This wasn’t the conclusion he expected David to reach. He could feel the world slow down again, heart beating louder. David looked at Victor one last time before tearing his eyes away. Soft blue, ocean eyes gazing elsewhere. He silently left. 

His heart beat once, twice, three times. He could hear each exaggerated drum and that was the only proof Victor had to know that his heart hadn’t shattered yet. Somehow his mind was drawn back to that photo. It was like the post was haunting him yet he felt more sorrowful than displeased this time. 

He suddenly wished they could go back to that damn photo. Things were better in the photo. All Victor wanted was to hold David’s face again, and look at him in adoration, and tell him how much he deserved to be happy. Tell him how much he means to him. It was never that simple though. Photos could never last for ever. They were just figments of a past which slip quickly through fingers if not grasped tightly enough, if not cherished enough, and leave just like David did. 

They couldn’t be anything more. 

They were nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my lovely Beta reader, for putting up with my emails, and reading this! Ily :)
> 
> The photo: https://twitter.com/D_DeGea/status/1232285898848505856
> 
> Maja's photo- comments can be found underneath: https://www.instagram.com/p/B9PmUrajr1A/
> 
> https://metro.co.uk/2020/03/01/victor-lindelofs-brilliant-reaction-david-de-geas-howler-everton-12329274/


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, sorry it's been a while.  
> Hope you all like this next chapter, I'm always so anxious about posting, so thank you to anyone who reads this in advance. I really appreciate it.  
> Have a great day or night! :)  
> 

"I don't speak the language that you speak. There're some words I know I'll never reach but when I see you smiling back at me somehow, somehow, I know exactly what you mean." - Tom Odell 

CHAPTER TWO 

Sometimes Victor wondered if anyone else feels the same way he does. This particular thought was aroused during training the following day. He had stayed away from David as asked and hadn’t approached the goalkeeper that morning. Instead, he paired with Harry Maguire and the two were kicking a ball around between themselves when various thoughts occupied his mind. 

He wondered if anyone else ever felt something more when being with a teammate. If a hug or a handshake ever meant something more, or a celebration during a winning goal was an excuse to be more intimate with someone you cared about, or even just a casual arm over a shoulder was a gesture of protection and affection rather than simply friendship. 

He looked at Marcus and Jesse and wondered if their fooling around was an expression of something else. Or the way Dan hugged Scott, and the caring admiring looks they exchanged meant more. Or when Bruno smiled when throwing an arm over Tony’s shoulder. He wondered if holding David’s face meant more than it did as well. 

Victor realised suddenly that he needed to stop letting his mind wonder. He missed the ball. Maguire’s pass had swept past his foot and hit Pogba who kicked it back. Something about Maguire had always annoyed Victor; whether it was his overhyped, expensive transfer price tag, or fact the fact he helped knock Sweden out of the World Cup, or even just his concerned mother hen looks (a mixture of gentle eyes and soft smile, which were currently present of his face), he always failed to pinpoint it. So he childishly settled on all three. 

“You okay today, Victor?”

“Yeah fine.” He grumbled and shot the ball back. 

Stupid Maguire he thought grudgingly. He missed David. 

The goalkeepers were training by themselves, at the back of the pitch, practicing their reflexes and reactions. This was usual procedure. But then Victor looked over and saw that David was wearing the same miserable look that was present yesterday. In addition, Juan Mata was in the area, which Vic thought was unusual. The shorter man was talking to David, probably speaking in Spanish, and the keeper was nodding along in turn. 

He missed the ball again. 

“Victor?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. I’ve got it.” 

The ball had traveled passed Pogba and the other players to the other side of the pitch. It would have been far too easy just to blame it on Maguire again but Victor knew his mind was else where. He trudged over to where the ball lay. 

“Victor?” 

This time It wasn’t Maguire’s voice. Without realising, Juan had walked over to where Victor was, and stood behind the defender. His facial expression was neutral so it was hard to guess what he wanted, but Victor had an instinct that it was going to be about David, and he was soon confirmed to be right.

“He told me to stay away from him.” 

“I know he did. But David can be stubborn sometimes, believe me, I’ve known this from many years on the national team together. And I know you want to respect that but I also know how much he needs you.” 

“Needs me?” He repeated, slightly taken aback by the request. 

“Please. Victor. I’m asking you to you to be there for him, despite what he says.” 

“Are you sure? Is that the right thing to do?”

“Trust me. He needs you more than he knows.” 

Victor hesitated but something about Juan’s tone puzzled him. 

“What’s wrong?”

This time Juan seemed uncertain. 

“You can’t let anyone else know about this, so this needs to stay between us.” He lowered his voice, which Victor thought was laughable considering they were on the other side of the pitch, but nodded in agreement all the same. “A couple of days ago David broke up with his girlfriend. She moved out before we played that match against Everton.” 

“How? What happened?” 

The image of David’s face during the match emerged in his mind and Victor tried hard to suppress the broken expression. 

“I don’t know the details. They were just having arguments, a lot, I guess, and decided to end it.” Juan’s eye wondered over to the goalkeeper training area, searching for David, and Victor’s gaze shortly followed suit. “He says he’s okay, and that it was for the best but he is blind to the help around him.” 

Then he looked at Victor, pleadingly. 

“Don’t let him cut you off, Victor. He’s only hurting himself.” 

These desperate words turned over his mind throughout the rest of the training session. Victor felt caught in a dilemma. This dilemma then became a cycle, which turned over and over restlessly, and continued throughout warm ups and into the training match. He wanted to give David his space, but if for some reason had Juan misjudged the situation, then this might easily ruin the friendship him and David had. He couldn’t afford to make that mistake. 

Though he undeniably missed David and their conversations. Their casual touches and easy smiles. He couldn’t help but feel that following Juan’s request was also a selfish need to give into his own desires. But he couldn’t think of that now, above all else should be what was best for the David. Victor tried to keep that in the forefront of his mind, at the surface of the tidal wave of internal debate.

The ball skipped past his feet again. Someone yelled his name. Probably Maguire. Stupid Maguire. Stupid game. God, he felt so frustrated. He looked around, Maguire’s concerned looks were more pronounced, some others looked slightly annoyed, Juan looked as neutral as always, and David was determined to focus, ignoring Victor. Make a decision and concentrate, his thoughts snapped. After a headache of other notions, he finally decided to try and speak to David after training. 

He only hoped that he that he wasn’t making a mistake. 

—

“David?”

Victor had finished training without anymore missed passes and annoyed looks, and decided it was best to approach David in the carpark alone. The other man was at his car, when he heard Victor walking up, and turned around. He looked uncertain (though Victor was glad that he wasn’t annoyed) like a dear caught in headlights, ready to bolt from danger. 

He stopped at least two metres away from the car, leaving enough space between them. Enough space to breath. 

“I know you asked me to stay away. I know you want to be alone. But I can’t do that, I’m sorry.”

“Please, I know it was cruel. I’ve realised to make you stay away was harsh. But I need to ask that you keep your distance still-” 

“Is this because of the game?” Victor interjected. “Because why me? What have I done which no one else has?” 

“It’s not you. It’s me,” David sighed. He leaned against the door of his car. “I need to focus for the next game. I'm doing the same to everyone else. It’s for the best.” 

“That’s bullshit. Juan was with you earlier.”

“Juan came and spoke to me. I didn’t ask him to. Things are just messy right now, I just need space.” 

“But what have I done. Please just tell me. I want to help, you know that right?”

“It’s complicated.” 

“Explain it to me then!” 

“Victor! I need to concentrate!” 

They had both began to raise their voices so Victor didn’t respond. He welcomed the silence and took a breath. 

“Do you know how many own goals I've made at this club?” 

“Two…” David seemed confused at the sudden change in topic. Though he quickly added, “but I should have saved those.”

“No, it was on me David. I made those mistakes. We all make mistakes. And that is how it is. Do you not think that Rashford has missed a vital goal? Or Lingard? My god, we know how many times Phil Jones has slipped up. But they are still here. They haven’t given up. I haven’t given up and I’m sure as hell won’t give up on you. I know you don’t want my help, you can keep your distance as much as you like, but I’ll still going to be here. You don’t even have to like me-”

“Like you? Of course I like you Victor. I like you too much. That’s the fucking problem!” 

Victor didn’t know how to respond. David liked him, which he knew of course, they were friends. They still are friends, he hoped at least. The silence that followed was sustained and eery, no one spoke for what felt like an eternity. 

“Hope you boys have a good night!” Called the cheery voice of Olé who was at his own car. Victor doesn’t know how much he heard but he couldn’t stop the embarrassed blush creeping up his face. 

They both waved the manager off. His car drove past and disappeared out of sight. 

Vic whispered, “I don’t understand.” 

David had already turned around. His back to Victor. He opened the car door. 

“I have to go. We can talk and we can still hang out but the less we do the better.” 

The words weren’t harsh or bitter, they had no intention of hurting Victor, but they were drenched in reluctance and regret which tormented him even more. He wanted to hold him again and he wanted David to hold him back. Victor was once again on his own as David drove away. He chest felt restricted and his mind turned those words over again and again in monotonous throes. There was nothing more for him to do.

There was nothing more to say except to feel the weight of everything which had passed.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all  
> Firstly, let me explain and apologies for this mess of a chapter.  
> Some of these events happened, like Victor wearing Maja's dress, and the Manchester derby. I'm aware these events didn't happen in that order but please go with it. At the moment I'm a toddler with a jigsaw puzzle trying to impatiently mash the pieces together to create this.  
> Another disclaimer, there was no fight, of course.  
> Also, sorry in advance for my Spanish? I used google translate, so fingers crossed. And me describing this football match, I realised it's not my strong suit.  
> Hope y'all enjoy. Thank you 
> 
> T/W: little bit of violence (just a scrap) and some homophobic language

"This voice inside has been eating at me. Trying to replace the love that I fake with what we both need" - Troye Sivan 

CHAPTER THREE

Another social media post turned Victor’s life upside down. 

In the recent weeks he felt like he couldn’t catch a break. His contact with David was minimal and Victor could feel it weighing him down. All he had was the escape of the football pitch to ease his mind, but then he often looked over and saw David in the goal, and everything came crashing back. He suddenly began to realise why team mates are not suppose to have feeling for each other. If everything fell apart, there would be no escaping the reality of it. There would be nowhere to hide. 

He thought he would do something nice for Maja to take his mind away from it all. That was it really. Just something simple to show his love and adoration for her. 

Recently, her dream of opening a clothing line was launching off the ground, so they had several of her newly designed dresses stored in their home. Victor was happy for her. He had always encouraged her to dream big and never give up. Of course, she did the same for him too. She always went to his matches, supported him, cheered in the crowds, held banners, and wore shirts with his name on the back. So that was why Victor decided it was completely fair, and as equally supportive, to wear one of her dresses. 

He had chosen the rosy gold one, with long sleeves and a round neck line, manufactured from sequins. The loose garment rested half way up his pale thighs, sitting above his waist and tied with a belt fashioned from the same fabric. Hastily, Victor swallowed his self consciousness, arising from baring too much flesh, and paraded around the home barefoot. 

“Maja?” He called. 

She entered the room not long after. 

“Oh my god,” she gasped in Swedish. They always spoke in their native tongue in their home. “Victor, darling, you look stunning!” 

He remembered smiling when Maja asked to take a picture of him to post. He agreed. I’ll show them who’s De Gea’s man, he thought bitterly. What Victor didn’t expect though was the uproar in the comments afterwards. Whatever tsunami Victor thought he was drowning in from the previous instagram post, seemed more tame, and much less harsher, than the comments which surfaced and multiplied like venom from this picture to rub in his already aching wounds. 

They started with the puking emojis and ended with variations of ‘is he even straight?’. Everything in-between was just as one lined and criticising with the majority being either homophobic or obscene. No one saw the man who was supporting his wife. All they saw was the dress he was wearing and the ridiculing didn’t stop. 

Maja tried to cheer him up. She really did. 

“If football doesn’t work out, you could always model for me.” 

He tried to smile but he couldn’t. His stomach twisted. 

He had made a mess of things once again. 

—  
MATCHDAY  
Man City vs Man United

Manchester Derbys were always something to look forward to, they were the day for teams to paint the city their colour and scream in pride at their own triumph in doing so. Nothing could compare to the feeling of it. Nothing could compare to bringing joy to your fans and silencing the critics. And nothing could compare, in Victor’s opinion, to playing a derby at home. Home at the picturesque grounds of Old Trafford. 

It was a day to make the fans, the club, the former players, the manager, the team, and most importantly, him family’s name proud. The thought of it was enough to help Victor breath and forget the troubles of the last couple of days. No one will care that he had worn that dress now that he’s wearing the vibrant and patriotic red of United. No one will care when his chest is under the crest of the devil. 

Before matches Victor always assisted David in helping him put his gloves on. He was surprised David asked him to do the same today. Though, he didn’t even look at Victor as he handed them to him. Neither did David put his hand on his waist for support as he liked to. The only contact they made was when Victor’s fingers slightly ghosted over David’s as he fitted the glove. So close yet never to touch. 

Then they separated. 

“Buena suerte,” Victor whispered. His chest ached. 

Maguire approached him and gave him a soft smile. 

“Good luck.” 

The taller defender carefully drew him into a quick hug, and Victor couldn’t help but sink into it, he missed the feeling. 

“You too,” he mumbled back. 

Eventually the whistle was blown. They kicked off. United were playing in three-four-one-two formation, versus City’s four-three-three, and Victor had taken position on the right. Maguire was settled in the middle, with Luke Shaw taking the left. The game was in motion and the crowd was already roaring in excitement. 

Settled on the wings was Brandon Williams and Aaron Wan-Bissaka, with a centre midfield consisting of Fred and Nemanja Matić, to provide width. The last midfielder, Bruno Fernandes, added an extra player in the attacking ranks to break through City’s four man defence. Bruno was able to move between the lines early in the game, assisting Daniel James on the right up front, who took aim at goal but was blocked by the keeper. 

During the thirtieth minuet however, City gave away a free kick a few yards from the penalty box, which was taken quickly by Bruno. He swiftly chipped the ball over the line of defenders running back towards the goal. Catching it on the volley, Anthony Martial on the left, controlled the ball and fired the assist into the goal. The shot was quick and clean. The ball slipped under the keeper’s body and straight into the back of the net. Within seconds the crowd erupted into an ecstatic atmosphere. 

United had taken the lead. Tony ran to the corner flag in celebration and the rest of the players flocked over, cheering with hands raised to the sky, and gathered tightly into a hug. Victor sprinted over, wrapping his arms around Dan and Fred, and he felt the warm arms of another player closing in, followed by a body being press against his back. He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face.

This is his team. His family. 

Nothing else mattered in that moment. 

He felt like he could cry. 

Victor had no idea how long they were gathered like that for. He left lost in that moment and wished that it would never end. Suddenly he started to feel the cold air, the warmth evaporating, as the players broke off and ran back to their starting positions. Reluctantly he joined. 

However, Victor soon became emerged in the game again as they kicked off, giving it everything and anything. Every pass. Every cross. Every block. Every kick they could. And when they didn’t have the ball, they ran. Ran and sweated until their muscles had grown stiff and tired. Anything they could to maintain the lead they had. 

Currently, the blue’s were in possession and advancing through the defending line. The were making an attack down the right wing, headed in Victor’s direction. His heart was beating. Focus. Concentrate on the player. He’s past the halfway line. Where are his options for a cross? Are they being marked? In response an unmarked man was making a run towards the box near the middle. Victor sprinted to him as the ball was crossed his way. He lunged, sliding in. His foot made contact with the ball pushing it away. The player tumbled over. Body falling over Victor’s. They landed on the grass. An entanglement of limbs. 

Maguire had cleared the ball away up the pitch. 

It wasn’t a foul nevertheless the opposing player begged to differ. Victor began to get up when he was forcefully pushed. It was absolutely uncalled for. The tackle was made fairly and no one was injured. 

“What the fuck was that?”

Victor couldn’t believe this. 

“Seriously?” 

Just walk away. This was pointless. 

“I’m talking to you! That was bullshit!” 

He shoved Victor again. Now he was drawing attention. It was like he wanted a fight. Don’t retaliate. 

“Go back to wearing dresses! Faggots don’t play football!” 

That was fucking it. Victor tried to throw a punch, but slipped, instead tackling the other man to the ground. It was clumsy and heated. Both grappled rapidly without any consideration or restraint. Victor let his emotions explode, everything caged up over the last week released, purging the venom from his wounds. Others had started to run over to the commotion and the game halted. The other man grabbed a handful of his shirt, violently turning him over, and pushed him into the ground. Victor thought he was going to strike his face. Fist coiled back. He cringed, stomach twisting in dread and sickness. His mind was spiralling. He couldn’t think. 

Another player intercepted, pulling his attacker away from his body. A familiar flash of purple. His heart froze.

David. 

Victor was left on the ground as David dragged the other man off. 

“Don’t you fucking lay another hand on him!” He was angry. Much angrier than Victor had ever seen before. 

A crowd of blue and red had gathered around, obscuring Victor’s line of sight. Maguire had pushed his way through. He placed his body as a barrier in front of Victor, protecting him from any other City players demanding answers of what had happened, or defending their teammate by throwing any more punches. 

“Victor! Are you okay?” He sounded breathless, he thought. He wasn’t sure. Victor wasn’t taking any of it in. He was breathing too hard. He wanted to get off the pitch. There’s too much going on.

“I need David!” He gasped, suddenly.

He had no idea why. In the chaos the only thing his mind could focus on was David. 

“We’ll find him in a minute,” Harry replied softy. He placed his hand on Vic’s shoulder, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. “It’ll be alright.” 

Victor wished that was true.

The players around them were still arguing, pointing fingers and shouting, while the referee was trying to defuse the situation. Victor sighed. All he could think about was how everything had become so fucking messy. How it had all transpired quickly and gotten out of control. He took a breath, closed his eyes, but he knew he was still in the same place. He knew he was still in Old Trafford. 

He knew that he had fucked up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation- 
> 
> Buena suerte = Good luck
> 
> (I know it's a small bit of Spanish, but google translate gives me trust issues.)
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if any details about the match is wrong/incorrect, I only listened to it on the radio. But considering this fic is all over the place, please don't take it too seriously. I'm trying my best :)
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, an update. That hasn't happened in a while... sorry
> 
> Here's some comfort now. 
> 
> Hope y'all like. 
> 
> I don't really know what I'm doing with this fanfic, I'll try and update as much as possible, but I'm losing confidence in my writing. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, if you do :)
> 
> TW// a slight panic attack/ a bit of an emotional melt down (just to be safe)

"We hide our emotions under the surface and try to pretend, but it feels like there's oceans between you and me. I want you and I always will." - Seafret

CHAPTER FOUR 

What was left of the first half of the match was quickly over. Victor couldn’t remember what had happened. The fight had been broken up and the players still disputing were calmed down. They had then resumed. 

From there he couldn’t remember much else. Only when the whistle blew and the players walked towards the tunnel he suddenly felt drawn back into reality. He could recall that both himself and the other player were booked with yellow cards, although it could have been worse if he actually threw that punch instead of slipping. 

Victor was never a person to support fighting. He usually swore in colourful words drenched in bitterness, but he knew as soon as he raised a fist he would have lost any given argument. Any man or women who responds with an act of violence has clearly run out of words or even the patients to verbally communicate, and absolutely no one’s thoughts should be expressed by the impact of knuckles and the imprint of bruising. Words were better. Consequently, those same devices haunted Victor, turning over in scrutiny around his mind, with embarrassment and shame of breaking his own morals. 

He felt so livid. Even now as he trudged across the pitch he felt the remnants of it boiling in his veins. He felt so stupid. So angry. So confused. 

Victor could feel his shoulders shaking, breath becoming laboured, eye stinging, throat closing, chest restricting. His head was spinning again. Quicker. It was like a pressure in his head. As if someone had tied an elastic band around his skull, pulling it tighter. As if there was a hand around his throat, cutting off his air. Everything felt too small. Too close. Too much. 

Unexpectedly, there was a hand on his shoulder. A familiar and comforting weight and shape. The pressure grounded him in reality like an anchor on a ship, battling the self deprecating struggles as his mind slowly turned itself inside out.

He tried to lean into it. He tried to keep sane. 

Victor was about to follow the line of players into the changing rooms, when he was guided of course, and pushed through the door of the physio room. He turned around, confused, as the door was shut behind him. 

It was just him and David. 

Neither of them said anything. Victor didn’t think either of them would say anything. Instead, just stand in the silence with aching eyes and contemplate their next move, recalling the regret and pain. All the missed hours. Hours filled with loneliness and silence. Victor would be damned if this would be another one of those moments. 

Then it happened. 

Slowly David moved his hand up to Victor’s face. He seemed hesitant, his eyes soft and asking for permission, and Victor leaned into the touch in response. David’s palm cupped his cheek, fingers curling into his hair, gently smoothing his thumb along Victor’s cheekbone. All Victor could do was shake. His knees felt weak. He didn’t even realise he had started to cry. 

It felt as if his diaphragm was spasming, breaths becoming shaky and irregular again, trying to draw in too much breath, as sobs racked his body. Gracefully, David’s hand moved from his cheek to the back of his head, guiding Victor towards his chest, as his other hand settled on his lower back. He leaned his whole weight into it, allowing the numbness to take over. Victor grasped at the back of David’s shirt, white knuckled, as if fearing the other would disappear. 

They embraced for what felt like forever. Even when they felt their legs go numb, instead of letting, they sunk to the floor, an entanglement of limbs on the cold tiles. David rested his chin on Victor’s head, feeling the soft dark curls against his face. 

He whispered, “I’ve got you now.” 

Victor shuddered from the warm breath on his hair. He wanted to sob harder. He didn’t know how to feel. He felt protected yet so vulnerable. The juxtaposition of senses overwhelming him into a confused, broken mess. Victor figured that he would sink through the floor if it wasn’t for his tight grasp on David. 

“Please don’t leave me,” he stammered between breaths. 

“Try and breath more slowly,” David encouraged. “Follow my breathing.” 

He took Victor’s arm, gently coaxing his hand’s tight grasp from his shirt and guiding it towards his neck. David’s hand then overlaid his. 

“Feel my pulse, listen to my breaths, follow my heartbeat. You can do it Victor.”

Minute by minute passed and breath by breath became more uniform and steady. He could feel them slowly become one. Victor could feel the world come back to him, yet it was still him and David, and nothing changed that. 

“i’ve got you, too,” Victor whispered. 

A small, smile spread across David’s face and Victor never realised how much he missed the sight of it. Sunshine, he thought, could never compare. They sat there for a few moments, breath slowing and synchronising, until a realisation crossed Victor’s mind. 

“What about Olé? Isn’t he expecting us back in the changing rooms?” 

“Don’t worry about that now, okay, we’ll talk to him afterwards,” David soothed, caressing Victor’s hair, “Did he hurt you?” 

“Huh?”

“That city player, did he hurt you?”

He hadn’t checked for any bruises or cuts, though he had no doubt that his pale flesh would be stained with inky splotches of violet and black. The bruises didn’t concern him, they didn’t linger in his mind with the resistance to fade. The only thing which persisted to haunt was the harsh words spat with resentment. Victor hated how the taunting language of the internet had leaked into the narrow minds of the players of the game. Other football players. They played the same sport, wore the kits, competed in the same competitions, but as soon as he wore that dress he was no longer part of that. He was ostracised. It sickened him. That is what hurt the most. 

“Victor?”

“He called me a faggot. Just because of that fucking picture of me in a dress.”

David didn’t respond for a while and Victor was worried that he said all the wrong words again. It was then he suddenly realised David was struggling to answer, torn between his anger and concern. 

“I thought it was just about the tackle, I didn’t know,” he finally said. “I’m so sorry, Vic. I’m so sorry he said that.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s not your fault.” 

“I should be sorry for all the other things though. I’ve been so fucking cruel. I’m just as bad as the others who’ve hurt you.”

“I can’t pretend that you didn’t. It did hurt. I just wanted to help you and then I was so worried to loose you.”

“I was so caught up in that mistake against Everton, that I was blind to the only mistake that I actually made which mattered,” David reflected, slowly, “telling you to stay away was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I’ve forgotten that game, and I moved on, but I could never move on from you. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did and it shouldn’t have taken me to this point to apologise either.” 

Victor sat up from David’s chest, the feeling returning to legs, and repositioned himself to wrap his arms around his torso while placing his face in the crook of the other man’s neck. David held him as intimately in response.

“It’s okay,” Victor whispered. This time he knew that it was. After a few beats he asked, “David?”

“Yes?”

He paused.

“What did you mean when you said that you liked me to much. Why was that the problem?” 

“I was worried I was getting distracted because of my infatuation with you.” 

“Were you?”

“Yes,” he took a breath, “I don’t know how to feel about you Victor. I thought that I could get over it but I tried to distance myself, tried to get you to stay away, and doing so only caused more pain. I kept wanting you back.”

He moved his head again. Victor held David’s gaze. They looked sad and he knew why.

“David,” he spoke softly, “I can’t. You know that. I’m married.” 

David broke the gaze. It was like he couldn’t look at what he couldn’t have.

“I know.” 

They continued to hold each other, as if this would be the last time. David wanted Victor but it just wasn’t suppose to be. It couldn’t be either. The boundaries of reality were much more stricter than just Victor’s loyalty and devotion to his marriage, loving David in return would cause more controversy than good. It was a life they couldn’t have, and a life that wasn’t permitted, when they wore these shirts and played this game. 

They could never be both. 

They couldn’t be anything more than teammates.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. :)
> 
> Thank you for staying with me.  
> I don't know what else to say, I just hope you all have a lovely day, week and month and enjoy the next chapter. 
> 
> Thank you to those who left kudos, and shoutout to those who left comments, I really appreciate all the support and love thank you- so I dedicate the next chapter to them :) <3

"And I found love where it wasn't supposed to be, right in front of me. Talk some sense to me" - Amber Run

CHAPTER FIVE 

He didn’t want to let go, though they did eventually. Everything afterwards felt harsher and much colder than before. 

David and Victor exited the physio room, calm and focused, yet with a still lingering doubt which overshadowed their determination for the second half of the match. The rest of the players were leaving the changing rooms, buzzing with the mentality of winning, and marching towards the pitch in high spirits. A few gave high fives to the couple as they passed and others spurred them on trying to improve their sombre looks. 

Olé was the last to leave. He didn’t ask where they were, neither was he mad, which Victor thought was odd for a manger whose players had just skipped out on the half time talk. The only expression he wore was one of concern. It made Victor feel slightly nauseous. He better not know what had happened. 

“You okay, Victor?” He asked. 

“Much better now.” He tried a smile but knew it was probably more of a grimace.

“David?” He turned to the goalkeeper. 

“Yes,’ he nodded. 

“Good,” Olé settled. He gave a small smile of encouragement, before he looked slightly more serious. “We will talk about this after the match but please no more fighting. You need to walk away and not retaliate, which I believe you already know Victor, so that is why I’m concerned.”

Victor could feel the guilt settle in, staining his hands, much like the bruises on his body. He just longed to get on the pitch and finish this game. Then he could get in the showers and scrub the feeling of his conscious. 

Olé continued, “If anything was said, you know you can tell me, alright?” 

He nodded with apathy. He felt so numb to it all. 

“Good. Now, lets get on that pitch and keep up that good performance…” 

He guided them out of the tunnel. Olé started to instruct David on some goal keeping tactics but Victor didn’t hear it. He didn’t hear any of it, including the roar of the fans, he just couldn’t bear it. He felt like another player, hiding under the red shirt, and nothing more.

—

The match ended two nil. Victor couldn’t pretend that the ending of that match didn’t put a smile on his face. That would really show City. Manchester is red. 

During the final minutes of added time, City’s goal keeper made an appalling throw, completely missing the mark, and sent the ball across to the feet of none other than their own Scott McTominay. The young Scotsman, who had been substituted on during the seventy eighth minute for Martial, had launched the ball back, firing the shot from forty yards away, into the goal keeper’s net before he had time to retreat. The crowd erupted. That was a night to remember, unless you were the opposing keeper. 

Scott had ran to the corner post, sliding on his knees, with the rest of players in tow. They hugged as if there was no tomorrow, and moments like these made Victor feel as if it was all worth while. Nothing else could make him forget like the adrenaline and passion. The pride. This team. 

Victor was glad that no one asked about the fight in the changing rooms afterwards. Everyone was still buzzing. They sung and chanted and hugged. They just did anything and everything, merging into one chaotic atmosphere of highly deserved victory. Victor looked around. Scott was still talking about his goal eagerly to Dan and Aaron. Bruno was celebrating with Anthony, laughing excitedly, with Luke and Harry listening in. Mason, Fred and Eric were huddled together. He looked around, searching, hoping to spot David. 

His eyes landed on Juan, who was talking loudly, about nothing in particular, only to distract Nemanja while he was speaking on the phone to his family. 

“Hey guys, hav-”

“David’s outside” Juan answered, not even blinking. 

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” 

It was only then that Victor noticed that David’s locker space was empty. Only later, as he exited the changing rooms, he couldn’t help but feel that circumstances were all too similar since the last time he had approached David in the carpark alone. This time it was raining as the sky above darkened. Despite that, neither the clouds or precipitation could conceal Victor’s tense anxiety which brawled in his chest. 

“You leaving so soon?” 

David turned around from his car. 

“Why are you here, Victor?”

His face was neutral, his tone likewise. 

“Just…” 

It dawned on his that he had no answer. Why was he here? Why had he followed David outside, when the rest of his team were celebrating inside? He settled on what felt the most right. What felt the most honest. That’s all he could offer. David deserved honesty. 

“I wanted to see you.” 

“Nothing more?”

“I don’t know.”

It felt lifeless. The air would be a void of soundless pain if it wasn’t for the rain. Continuously, the rainfall persisted with more purpose and direction which Victor stupidly envied. He tried again. 

“Why are you leaving?” 

“Before I do anything stupid.” 

“Like what?”

“Like ask you over.” 

“David, don’t do this again,” he pleaded. Victor wryly thought ‘deja vu' would be a fitting word to describe this, but nothing about this was funny. Not in the slightest when his heart ached so much. Not when David was in pain. 

“I wanted to see you too, okay.” David responded, distress lacing his tone, “I don’t want this to be hard. I want to understand this. I just want everything to be okay, and I look at you and it can be, and you make everything so much more better, but then I can’t stop drowning, Vic.” 

“Drowning?” 

“I can’t explain this feeling. It feels wrong like I’m in way over my head.” 

“Aren’t we both?” 

A beat. David didn’t answer, struggling to find the words. Victor could start to feel the rain more in the tense seconds. Its presence, soaking through fabric to bone, plastering his fringe to his forehead, material to skin, chilling and exposing. He realised that he was still wearing his kit, though David was already changed, his fresh clothes becoming drenched in the downpour. 

“We need to stop running away from each other. It won’t solve anything.”

“Solve what? I don’t see a solution to this. I want to be with you, yet I can’t, and you can’t either. We’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. There is no winning this.” 

“Then don’t see this as winning.” 

“Then how else can we describe this?” David countered, “Because this isn’t like when we play football, we don’t have ninety minutes to make a difference, we either win, lose or draw. But this, this is something different…”

His words seemed to trail off. A sentence left unfinished, unanswered. Empty. 

“Where do we go from here, Victor? Me and you, how does this end?”

“I don’t know.”

They were going to catch their death soon. Victor hoped he meant that in a literal sense, as the stabbing cold of the rain chilled their blood, though he wouldn’t be surprised if the world just ended here. At least if it did, it would just be the two of them in the carpark, together as everything collapsed around them. He felt like he could sink through the floor again. It wasn’t real but Victor couldn’t shift the dread that plagued his heart anyhow. 

“When we were in the physio room and you held me, and I was crying so much, I felt different. I don’t know if my head was just elsewhere, it probably was. But I felt as if I knew what the world was. It makes no sense, I know. But I felt so grounded in your arms, and I can’t figure out why, and it felt like forever, however short it was that moment felt like…”

How could he describe it? The whole concept seemed so abstract and surreal that Victor didn’t think there was a word appropriate, or even exact, to summarise the experience perfectly. 

“Eternity.” David offered, voice barely a whisper. 

It wasn’t a question. They both knew actually what it was, though Victor didn’t think anything came close, but that was it. Eternity confirmed everything Victor wanted. He didn’t know how to describe it before, all those confused moments, holding each other within the haze of emotions. But now he did. Now it made sense, as much as it could. It was eternity. Just like in the physio room or that photo where he held David’s face, that was the feeling, when it was just him and David, and nothing else. That was eternity. 

Those moments were sparse, few and treasured, though Victor couldn’t tell if it was love or the dichotomy of clashing worlds which empathised their euphoric feeling. Normal friendships don’t feel like this. Having moments like ‘eternity’ were something sacred, which was why he craved them more, despite how much it scared him. They were the moments that made him feel most alive.

“Eternity.” He echoed, “I want eternity with you.”

“I want that too.”

But at what cost. If he had their ninety minuets to choose, eternity would the closest thing to winning. He knew it just wasn’t that simple though. He needed to separate his reality from the football pitch. They just couldn’t be with or without and it was no easy path when the road was crumbling underneath them with each step. 

“Where do we go from here?” Victor asked. 

“We make a choice.”

It sounds so simple in words. 

“And what if it is a mistake?”

Nothing is as simple as it seems.

“Then it would be our mistake.” 

This could be throwing it all away, like signing a contract with the devil, and selling your soul. Selling your life for lust might be a heavy price, but what is life when he couldn’t feel it. How can he carry on, drifting through the clouded void of emotions, when he knew the remedy. He knew his face, and his smile, his voice, his touch which grounded him. He pushed the opposing circumstances from his mind, and only the distance which remained between them now was the space of the car park. Victor took the steps, closing the gap. 

This would be the colliding of worlds, the breaking of barriers, something that could destroy and ruin him. Ruin them both. They were breaking the rules. 

Victor threw his arms around David. The other embraced just as quickly, their warm bodies eradicating the cold which soaked their clothes, numb fingers grasping into waterlogged material. Manchester’s vibrant red merging with David’s casual clothing. The rain contained to beat down, but neither man moved, its presence unnoticed and forgotten in the hold. Two bodies became one. 

It was just them. 

He hoped for god that this wasn’t going to be a mistake. He has made so many errors on the football pitch, subsequently so many regrets with clung to him in response, a reminder, but Victor was able to push them away in David’s presence. It couldn’t be a mistake when it felt right. 

“Hope you boys enjoy the rest of your night!” Called the optimistic voice of Olé. Dave ja vu is a funny thing, Victor quipped, though the appearance was very much welcome this time, as no more bitterness stained the atmosphere. Dave untangled himself, and Victor took a small step back, both turning to look at their boss. 

“I haven’t forgotten about our talk Victor, but I don’t want to dampen the mood or hold you up, so we will discuss it tomorrow morning, okay.”

He gave a reassuring smile and Olé turned to his car. He was soon gone from the car park leaving the two alone. Alone within each other’s arms once again. 

David looked to Victor, lost in each other’s eyes, and shared a gaze of pure trust and adoration. No words would ever need to be said. They both knew if they left, turned their backs on the world for a little while, and disappeared, then the pain would go away. 

It was going to be a hard road to walk. Victor already felt shaky. It wasn’t going to last and he knew deep down in his gut that he was soon going to fall. Though, right now, in this moment, as he held David’s hand in his own, he was going to hold onto it for as long as he could. That’s all he could do. He gave his hand a squeeze. 

Everything was going to fall away. 

The world was going to tear him and David apart.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this happened quickly?? A new update?? Who is this person?? 
> 
> I'm not sure how many people noticed but I updated a couple of hours again, had seconds thoughts and deleted it. So if you have read the old chapter, apologies, here's the updated version. I wasn't happy with the first one... :/ 
> 
> Anyyyywayyy... forget that I did that aha, hope you are all having a lovely day/night. Thank you for stopping by (again) :)

"Lips tell it to my ear, everything I wanna hear but it ain't right. I don't even quite belong in your life. Oh, what've I done, giving you my guilt only made me numb. I don't feel right...I feel like I wasted you" - Flora Cash

CHAPTER SIX

Victor realised that he had never spent that much time in David’s home before. Their moments, whether intimate or just platonic, away arose on the training grounds or football field. Domesticity was never something that had occurred in their lives, between themselves, and they have never had moments, or even just the time, to indulge in something slow and homely together. 

He would sometimes give Paul Pogba lifts, occasionally with David tagging along, always in the backseat of his car, and David would mock Pogba’s taste in music in good nature. Ultimately, they always arrived at the same destination, with the same routines before them, and with the same people awaiting. There was never just time for themselves. 

Therefore, seeing David’s home in different circumstances stirred a slight anxiety within Victor. 

He didn’t know what to expect, what the interior would look like, what David’s favourite colours were which he may have committed to the walls or furniture, or even his favourite photos or ornaments. Stepping foot within the hallway he felt out of place. It was a feeling that he couldn’t shift. 

“You okay?” David asked, shutting the door after him. 

Victor nodded, shallowing his guilt and strong emotional response which felt like bile rising in his throat. Then he shivered, the cold of the rain finally registered with his senses. 

“How about you have a shower?” David offered. “I can give you some clothes to change into?”

He suddenly wondered how David must be feeling. What emotions, what thoughts must be spiralling around behinds his eyes, and whether doubt or regret had begun to stab his heart as well, threatening to bleed out. He wondered if he felt wrong for inviting and sharing his life with someone else. 

“Yeah sure.”

His house was slightly empty and it didn’t go unnoticed by Victor. Places with the purpose of holding beloved belongings looked compromised, lingerings of past possessions, past lives, past loves stained the atmosphere and conspired together to haunt. 

It suddenly dawned on him and Victor realised the subject which had previously arisen, as mentioned by Juan, that he didn’t want to press on. Edurne had left. Subsequently, on that thought, it also occurred why felt out of place. Why he felt unnatural, almost like an intruder. He didn’t belong in what had once been, in what once was. Except in this haunted house, he was the ghost, the apparition that lingered and observed, never to touch or be apart of. 

He followed David up the stairs shakily. Hands trembling, fingers ghosting over the banister. 

“I’ll see if I can find something comfortable,” David explained. He walked into his bedroom, digging through the wardrobe, as Victor remained in the doorway, feet planted like weights at the fresh hold. 

He couldn’t do this. This wasn’t his home. Just stop. Victor pinched his nails into the palms of his hands. Right now, all he wanted was to shower and drown the intrusive thoughts. 

“Vic?”

Victor shallowed again and stepped over to David. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Victor smiled. “I’m just tired.”

David nodded, agreeing with the fatigue caused by the extent of the day. He continued to rifle through his draws and dragged out a black t-shirt. Victor took it from his hands, soft material in his palms, and unfolded the item of clothing to look over the design. 

A skull, with signature bat wings, the mark of a favourite band. 

“Avenged Sevenfold,” David confirmed, looking at Victor, and handed over a grey hoodie. “I’ve always loved their music. But I try to restrain from playing their stuff in the changing rooms. I don’t think it is in anyone else’s taste.” 

He chuckled softly. Victor couldn’t help but draw a smile at the sound. His happiness was infectious to him. 

“Yeah, I don’t think the guys are into pre match mosh pitting.” 

David handed over a pair of jeans, showing Victor to the shower, and explained the workings and where he kept everything. 

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” David stated. “I’m going see what I can make for dinner.” 

Victor nodded one last time and David left. He was alone in the bathroom and he couldn’t ignore the coldness. It look him a while to undress, still feeling uncomfortable with the surroundings, like the walls had eyes, taunting him. Or maybe it was just himself. He wasn’t sure anymore. 

David, let alone anyone else, wouldn’t notice if was to cry in the shower. Everything just goes down the drain anyway. 

—

No matter how many times one may wash an item of clothing, underneath the artificial pungent of detergent clung the idiosyncratic aroma of the individual who wore it most. It stuck to the fibres, an imprint of love and character unmatched by any other. Victor could smell it, the familiar scent of David which he recognised from each hug, each embrace, now marked on his clothes. In particular the hoodie, which fitted like warm blanket, made Victor feel like he was wrapped tightly in another hug. He pulled the hoodie closer. 

It was an intertwining feeling, he decided.

He was sat on the bathroom floor, hair damp, and taking in the scent of David’s clothes. Victor’s hair now smelled of his shampoo too, his body of his shower gel and soap, and Victor thought to himself that is what sharing your life with someone is like. When two become one. 

Slowly, he headed downstairs. He followed the sound of activity, of which soon revealed to be the sound of David’s chaotic calamity in the kitchen, and arrived at his destination. 

“Would you like some help?” Victor asked, leaning in the doorway. He grinned as David rummaged through his cupboards while something boiled angrily on the stove. 

“I thought I knew what I was doing,” David moaned. “I think it’s very clear that I don’t.” 

Victor headed to the cooker, turning the stove to a low heat, and allowed the water to calm. 

“Leave it to the Swede. Cooking is our forte.” He looked over the counter and spotted a packet of spaghetti. “Do you want me to put the pasta in?” 

“Yeah,” David sighed. He emerged from the cupboard, finally equipped with the chopping board he needed. “I was suppose to be making you dinner.” 

“I don’t mind helping. It kinda looks like you need it anyway.” 

“Hey! I was trying okay,” David quipped playfully. “We’re not having an ‘old married couple’ dispute already.” 

Vitor’s stomach flipped. He forced a smile although something about it startled him. Old married couple- but what were they, actually? Boyfriends? Friends who loved each other too much? What was the word for this. He knew this was something they were going to have to talk about at some point. 

David started chopping vegetables and they casually talked as they alway would. Nothing has really changed in how they talked, although there was a slight hesitation in their approaches. For the first time, Victor had a strong conscience of personal space. He wondered what the boundaries where, how intimate he could be, he had a million questions and not enough words to suffice. Did David want to be intimate with him? They were making dinner now but what next? 

Before he knew it they landed on the subject of television, and David produced at least a five minute monologue about an Anime Victor which had never heard of before. 

“We should watch an episode?” 

“Sure,” Victor agreed. “I can’t refuse now that you’ve really pitched it to me.”

“You’re going to love it and wonder why you have never watched it before. I’m broadening your horizons!” 

David sieved the spaghetti and served it into two bowls. Victor added the sauce and meatballs. 

“Bon appetite!” 

“It looks so professional,” Victor commented. 

“It’s the shame the kitchen doesn’t.”

The two looked around at the mess which clustered every corner and worktop. 

“We’ll worry about that later,” David concluded. “Now prepare to have your life changed by Naruto!” 

So they ended up on the sofa, bowls in hand, trying to eat spaghetti in a dignified manner, in front of the television. David had gone back into the kitchen at some point and found a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses, and they laughed and talked. Victor could see the joy on David’s face as he explained the premise and gushed over the characters with each passionate word. It made him feel warm and he himself couldn’t help but smile, the whole moment seemed somewhat absurd. 

“What?” David laughed, seeing Victor’s grin. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head. He took a sip of wine, shallowing, “I just didn’t think my evening would entail seeing big, brave Spanish Dave fan-girling over anime.” 

David scoffed. “Many people watch anime. It’s loved all over the world.” 

He finished his pasta and put the fork into the dish. 

“So go on then, tell me what you love to fangirl about. And I better get a passionate speech otherwise I won’t believe you.” 

Victor didn’t have to think that long. He knew what he loved. He knew what had shaped his childhood. 

“Ice hockey.” 

He put down his own finished dish and Dave gestured for him to elaborate. 

“Okay, so when I was younger I had a choice. It wasn’t easy. But it never is easy picking between the things you love. So I could either try to pursue ice hockey or football, and spoiler, I chose football. But ice hockey never left me, it’s something I love, something I breath, it’s in my blood, and when you love it that much it’s hard to let go of it. Maybe in another life I might have played ice hockey, who knows.”

“Do you regret your decision?” 

Victor thought about it and this time he hesitated. Football had bought him a lot of things he’s grateful for, he couldn’t deny that, but he also couldn’t help but wonder what life would have been like with ice hockey. Sure, he’s made mistakes on the pitch, and he’s often become the subject of scrutiny and ridicule, but playing ice hockey wouldn’t have minimised that. He’s only human, whether on ice or on grass, and if he fell on either, he would only bleed all the same.

He just couldn’t dismiss the thought of tolerance which made him doubt his decision slightly. Would the fans and the organisations been different in their attitudes? There was a toxicity which scared him, under the surface, which only bled through slowly and now that he had seen it he couldn’t ignore it. The pressure of constant success, the pressure of playing at a top league, under the eye of the world, to give his best or face the abuse. And that’s all he was. That’s all any of them were. They were nothing more than the shirts they wore and the mistakes they made.

Eventually, he took a breath, and looked at David. David’s eyes, his smile, the way they looked over Victor, caring and concerned. He suddenly realised what made it worth while. He realised in that moment what always numbed the pain and made him carry on. It was wearing the same shirts and the pride, the unity, the team. Most importantly the people who made the team and picked each other back up. The people who made the day worth facing and helped drown the noise of harsh words and criticism. The people who wouldn’t give up on him. 

“No,” he answered finally. “Because I met you.” 

David smiled softly. His eyes looked wet, speaking a million words through the ocean of his irises, searching over Victor’s face in abundance of emotions. Cautiously, David moved his other hand to Victor’s face, lightly cupping his cheek, eyes seeking consent as he leaned in. 

And just like that they kissed. His heart skipped as they met, eye closing, and leaned in. An intense burst of emotion erupted within his stomach, as if all the frustration and anger, all those moments of sadness and longing popped into the most unique sensation which pooled warmly inside him. David’s lips were soft, careful, as were his hands which traveled and explored the back of Victor’s head, lightly caressing his hair. Victor rested his hands on David’s back, grounding him and empathising that feeling, the warmth, the smells, David’s shampoo, his touch, everything for as long as possible into what felt like eternity. 

They were breathless. They drew back and took in the air. Bathed in the feeling. The moment. David pulled Victor closer again. Victor moved longing to be closer as well. He wanted everything. He wanted David. 

David’s hands moved to his chest and Victor suddenly pulled back. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He wasn’t sure what was wrong. His head was buzzing, whether from the intensity of the kiss or the glasses of wine, but he surely wasn’t thinking straight. He had held out for so long, trying not to give into his heart, but was overcome by the strong desire. He wanted David and he always will. Something inside him screamed. Something inside him ached.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Victor said, softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, I should be sorry,” David replied, drawing back and giving Victor space. “That was probably too soon.” 

Now all that was left was coldness. The spark which burned so passionately, so fiercely, was dying out his chest, becoming nothing more than charred remains. Nothing more than ashes.

His heart was thumping in his chest, longing for David, and angry at Victor’s sudden change of mind. They clashed. His body was a vessel concealing the internal debate between his mind and heart, a battle for dominance, which slowly tore and wrecked his external being. He couldn’t stand it. 

“This is my fault.” 

Victor looked at his hands and could see the faint half moon imprints of nails within his palm. 

“I shouldn’t have mislead you like that.” 

Again, which his mind screamed, was left unsaid. While his heart ached for David, his mind held leverage the pictures of Maja, their wedding, their memories, which turned over and over and reminded him of the mistake he was going to make if he listened to his heart. It’s not that he couldn’t do it, he just shouldn’t. He would never forgive himself. 

They sat awkwardly for a few seconds, unsure if to touch again. Even to look at each other again. Victor took the chance after a moment, hesitantly looking up, and gazed into David’s eyes. His oceans which were flooded with pain. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” David whispered. 

“I should go.” 

“You can’t. We’ve both been drinking.” 

Victor leaned back into the sofa, hoping to sink through the cushions, through the floor into nowhere. There was a lump in throat, a constant pain, which he could feel every time he shallowed. 

After a few beats David suggested, “You can sleep here, if you would like, in the guest room?” 

He nodded. “Thank you.” 

Victor tried to distract himself, rapidly thinking for an escape. He bitterly couldn’t help but reflect on ice hockey and how he never forgot his past love. Maybe David was his ice hockey all over again, to be loved at a distance, a life which he was never suppose to have. Never suppose to choose no matter how much his heart screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I changed the part where Vic and Dave kiss. I decided that would help my story progress better. Plus, I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> I tried to write something slightly happier. I feel very mean, I'll give Vic and Dave a break one day, I may just write them a spin off and send them on holiday to compensate for all this sadness. 
> 
> Hope y'all liked. 
> 
> Also, considering this is a football fanfic, just thought I would pop in and say that save by David yesterday at Newcastle v Utd game added at least 10 years to my life span. I'm glad the boys are slowly getting their form back, I'm hoping they will pull through for the champions league on Tuesday. I am very excited and nervous :0

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely Beta reader, for putting up with my emails, and reading this! Ily :)
> 
> The photo: https://twitter.com/D_DeGea/status/1232285898848505856
> 
> Maja's photo- comments can be found underneath: https://www.instagram.com/p/B9PmUrajr1A/
> 
> https://metro.co.uk/2020/03/01/victor-lindelofs-brilliant-reaction-david-de-geas-howler-everton-12329274/


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